Halls of Ivy
by Andrix
Summary: !AU! What if the Losers were just your average high-school kids? What if Max was nothing more than a petulant brat bent on ruining their lives? Rated T for language. Spoilers wrapped in a coating of school drama. Allusions to JensenxCougar.
1. Smell of a Rat

A/N: Welcome to **Halls of Ivy**. First off, the title of this comes from my good friend the thesaurus. When I searched 'school', one of the alternatives it gave me was 'halls of ivy'. I thought it had a good ring. Second, this story is dedicated to two people: To JP/Turtle, for her motivating reviews and for seriously fluffing my ego, and to Maddie, whose idea for chapter U of my alphabet fic snowballed into an entire Alternate Universe. Thank you, ladies, this one's for you.

And I am very, very aware that I am _completely bastardizing_ this story. It's supposed to be fun – keep that in mind, k?

:heart:s  
Andrix

* * *

The Creston-Ingram Academy. The nation's most prestigious private school. For two-hundred years since it's founders Jedidiah Creston and Oswald Ingram had first opened it's doors, it's halls had spawned nothing but lawyers, businessmen and billionaires. It was rumoured you had to be stinking rich just to get past the gates.

At least, until the Losers showed up. In a school full of rich brats, they stuck out like sore thumbs. They had all gotten in for their talents in certain areas. Frank Clay and Linwood Porteous were the best quarter back and full back Coach Coleman had ever seen. Jake Jensen could program anything and everything from a VCR to a super computer. But that didn't matter to the rich kids. They were losers. Each of them came from a no-account family. All of their parents were footstools to the parents of the higher class students. And the Losers knew it, but they didn't give two shits. And that was why no one fucked with Clay and his gang.

No one, that is, save for one person. Max Creston was the son of the son of the son of the son of Jed Creston himself, and to him, the Losers were bugs that needed to be squashed. Max and his cronies William Roque and Wade Travis constantly schemed and connived to make life for the Losers at C.I.A. a living hell, and, very often, they succeeded.

For the most part Clay, Pooch and Jensen turned the other cheek. Max was just a petulant, spoiled rich kid, and they all knew it. That was until Max drew the straw that broke the camel's back.

It started like every other day. It was the middle of the first semester. Pooch and Clay where standing around waiting for Jensen, who was late as usual. When the blonde finally showed up, they exchanged their 'hey's and 'how ya doing's, until Jensen noticed a new face standing just behind Clay, leaning against the lockers, quiet as the dead.

"Hey, looks like you've got a second shadow, Clay." he remarked.

Clay blinked and looked over his shoulder. "Oh yeah," he said, "He's so quiet I forgot he was there. This is Carlos. He's new."

"Cougar," the kid corrected, tipping his cowboy hat slightly.

"Cougar. Okay. Well, this is Pooch and that's Jake Jensen. We just call him Jensen." Clay replied, pointing at each in turn.

"So what do your parents do?" Jensen asked. "Millionaires? Big-shot lawyers? Owners of a Fortune 500 company?"

"None of the above," Cougar replied, with a distinct Spanish accent.

"Jensen," Pooch said, "If he was from any background like that, you think he'd be hanging around us losers?"

"You never know," Jensen replied, "Maybe they're not all dickweeds?"

"No," Clay said, "They're all dickweeds. Cougar's here for the same reason as you an' me."

"Ah, 'talent out-reach program', then. So what do you do?"

"I shoot."

"You shoot?"

"I shoot. Archery, skeet shooting. Paintballing."

"He could pin Stegler between the eyes with fluorescent pink from 500 yards." Clay said, "He's the Archery team's new star."

"Impressive," Jensen admitted. Before he could say anything else, however, the chime of the PA system rang out and Coach Coleman's voice crackled through.

"Frank Clay and Linwood Porteous to the Phys. Ed. office, please. That's Frank Clay and Linwood Porteous to the P. E. office."

And little did they know, but that was the sound of shit hitting the fan.

Pooch and Clay smelled the rat as soon as they set foot in Coleman's office. It was a scent they had grown very familiar with. It was a smell they had grown to loathe. The coach looked at both of them and held up two sheets of paper.

"Gentlemen, do you have any idea what I'm holding in my hand right now?" he asked.

Pooch could see what it was very clearly. "Report cards, sir," he answered.

"Report cards, Pooch." Coleman confirmed, nodding. "And let me just say that I am not impressed."

"Sir?" Clay said questioningly.

"Franklin Clay, failing grades in both English and Biology." Coleman read, "Linwood Porteous, failing grades in English and Math."

Clay stared at him like he was stark-raving bananas. "You have got to be fuckin' kidding me."

"Watch your language, Clay. And no, I'm not kidding. You're both off the team." he then amended his statement. "...at least until your grades improve."

"Sir, with all due respect, the last time I checked, I was passing every class I was in." Pooch said, "Even math, and we all know I'm crap at math."

"Well, that's not what this says." Coleman replied.

"Then there's some mistake."

"There's no mistake, Pooch. Principal Stegler's signature is right there." Coleman extended the report card so Pooch and Clay could both see. Sure enough, plain as day, was Stegler's signature scrawled across the bottom. The ink was even smudged, proof that it wasn't just a photocopy.

Clay's lip curled in a snarl and he turned on his heel, marching out of the office. Pooch gave Coleman the glare of a lifetime before following him. Jensen and Cougar were waiting outside the door.

"What was that all about?" Jensen asked.

"We're off the team," Clay snarled.

"What!" Jensen exclaimed, "Why?"

"Apparently, we're both failing two classes." Pooch replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Bullshit," Jensen muttered.

"Yes, Jensen," Clay replied, "And I smell a rat."

"Wait. You think Max has something to do with this?"

"Who is Max?" Cougar asked.

"Max Creston is the school founder's great-times-four-or-something-grandkid." Jensen told him, "He's been a thorn in our sides since we got here. He doesn't take kindly to... what was it?"

"No-account, no-good pond scum," Clay answered.

"Yeah. He doesn't take kindly to 'pond scum' like us sleazing up his daddy's precious school." Jensen finished.

"Sounds like a _puto_." Cougar commented.

"Hit the nail on the head, Cougs!" Jensen replied, giving him a slap on the shoulder. Cougar smiled from under his hat. "He's about the biggest _puto_ you'll ever meet."

"And I have a feeling he has something to do with why Pooch and I were just booted off the team."

"But you can't prove that," Jensen said, "You can never prove he does anything we know he does. He's untouchable, Clay. We'd get expelled for slandering the founder's family or some shit like that."

"I'll find a way."


	2. Like a Picture

A/N: Fffff I love you guys. Hearts to infinityyyy. And because I love you so much I worked extra hard to give you a new chapter! Enjoy, my pretties!

But first I have a question to pose to you, my lovable losers. Would any one be interested in an audio version of this fic, as read by yours truly? I have to say that I won't be trying to do voices. I might attempt an accent for dear Cougs, but other than that it'd mostly just be me reading to you in my nasally voice. xP If there is interest in a 'PodFic', as I have learned they are called, then I may also do one for In Memorandum. But that's up to you! Let me know in a review or vote in the poll on my profile page.

And now, on with the show.

* * *

It was two weeks after Clay and Pooch got the boot, and they still hadn't managed to get back at Max and his slimy cohorts. Each plan they came up with had one fatal flaw – they couldn't get close enough to Max to pull it off, past the rich little shit parading past them every morning in the halls, loudly conversing about his newest Rolex or the Benz his parents just bought him for being top of the class again, with the herd of brown-nosed little boot-lickers that followed him around. Even when the Boot-Lickers weren't there, he was always flanked by Wade or Roque or both. And on the list of 'People at C.I.A. You Don't Want to Mess With', they were at the very top, right up there with Stegler on a bad day and Sanderson before he'd had his coffee in the morning.

It was their study period, and they had convened in the courtyard, as they usually did, to try and come up with something.

"I could hack his bank account," Jensen offered, "Donate all his cash to some charity for unfortunate wretches in Africa or something. We'll see how smug he is when he's penniless..."

"Too easy to turn around into good PR," Clay replied, shaking his head. "All he'd have to do is spin some stupid yarn about being a good Samaritan. The media would eat it up."

"Yeah, but he'd still be pissed! And poor!" Jensen said, looking around for support.

"Pissed is dangerous," Cougar replied, sprawled out on one of the ornate benches in the courtyard, hat over his face.

"Cougar's right," Pooch said, nodding.

"Aw, Cougs, I thought you'd have my back," Jensen mumbled, pouting at him.

Cougar sat up, flipping his hat onto his head. "I do. Its too obvious."

"Right again," said Clay, "he knows you're a programmer and a hacker, Jensen, and he knows that if anyone could do that to him, it would be you. We don't need him pissed off. We need him gone."

"Oh, so now we're not just trying to get back at him, we're trying to get him expelled?" Pooch asked, "You realize that's about ten... thousand times harder, right? His dad _owns the school_, Clay."

"He's not immune to the rules, Pooch, he's just sleazy and good at shirking around them. We can get him expelled..."

"It's going to take a metric _fuck ton _of work and will probably end up killing us in the process." Jensen added, "You're pretty much declaring war on this entire school."

"They started it," Cougar said, rubbing his cheek.

He'd only been there two weeks, but already Max had gotten around to screwing with him. There was a scratch and a bruise across his cheek from a bow string snapping when he had pulled it back, and another on the side of his hand. The archery coach chalked it up to coincidence, but Cougar knew otherwise. Wade was on the archery team with him and would have known which bow was his, would have known that a string that was cut just enough would snap, making it look like an accident. When Cougar had gone back to restring his bow, he could tell that the break was too neat.

Jensen had felt terrible about it. Said it was their fault. If Cougar hadn't taken to hanging around them, then Max and the rest wouldn't have messed with him. Cougar knew that wasn't the case. He was 'pond scum' too, his family nothing more than poor immigrants. Even if he hadn't tagged along with Clay the day he'd arrived, he would have been lumped with the Losers anyways. He'd told Jensen as much, but the blonde still insisted on buying him lunch the next day.

Clay ran his fingers through his short black hair. "That they did, Cougar. That they did."

The bell rang, signalling that they had about ten minutes to make it to their next class. Clay grabbed his backpack, leading the way back into the building. As the Losers walked down the hall, someone slammed into Clay, causing him to drop the bag. The other guy dropped his too, but was quick to pick up Clay's and hand it back to him.

"Watch where you're going," Clay muttered.

"Sorry, man," the kid replied, "got distracted. Here's your bag."

"... Thanks." Clay replied, eyebrow quirking. He took the backpack from the guy, slinging it over his shoulder. It felt heavier than usual. He quickly decided it was just his imagination.

"No problem!" the kid said, picking up his own bag and taking off down the hall at a rather quick pace.

"That was weird." Jensen said afterwards.

"Kind of," Pooch agreed, "Who was that guy, anyways?"

"No time," Cougar said, pointing at a clock on the wall, "Three minutes to get up two floors. We're going to be late."

"Shit," Clay swore, taking off at a run. The others followed suit.

They were still late. They escaped getting a detention, though, since it was the first time they'd been late in a while. When class ended, Jensen handed Clay his bag.

"Jesus," he muttered, "What d'you have in there, bricks?"

"I thought it felt heavier," Clay replied, staring at the bag. "I figured I was imagining it."

"No," Jensen replied, "Definitely weighs more than three textbooks and a huge-ass binder."

Clay frowned and unzipped the bag. Inside was a folder, packed with papers, neatly stapled together.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, pulling it out. Jensen grabbed it from him, face lighting up like a kid in a candy shop.

"These are _exam answers_!" he exclaimed, "For every class this semester! Do you have any idea how much we could sell these for? I need to make copies!"

"Jensen!" Pooch said, slapping him in the back of the head, "Don't you realize what this means?"

"Framed," Cougar muttered with venom.

The light went out, Jensen's face shifting to terror. "... Ohhhh. Shit."

"We have to get these back to Stegler's office before he catches us." Clay replied, heading for the door. As soon as he reached it, though, a tall figure filled the door frame.

"It's a bit late for that, Mr. Clay."

It was Stegler. He grabbed the folder from Clay, eyeing the other three behind him. "Max told me he saw you four sneaking around my office. I expected better from you."

"No, sir, you don't understand," Jensen said, hands up, "we haven't even made copies of them yet, really! I mean, not that we were _going_ to make copies. Or sell them to people. The thought never even crossed our minds, we swear! We didn't even take them, really! Someone smacked into Clay and their bags got mixed up! Honest!"

"Jensen," Pooch muttered, "Shut up."

Stegler shook his head. "Detention for a week, starting today. For all of you."

"Sir!" Jensen exclaimed, about to attempt to talk them out of trouble again. Before he could get going, he was silenced by Cougar clapping a hand over his mouth.

"Sorry sir. Won't happen again." Cougar said, trying to look admonished.

"I should think not. Just be glad it isn't something more severe than detention, boys." Stegler told them,turning and leaving.

Clay turned and kicked a chair into the wall. "That son of a bitch!" he shouted, "That sickening, slimy bastard. I'll kill him, I swear to God. Get me a baseball bat, I'll knock his shit-eating face off."

"You won't get close," came an unidentified female voice, from just around the side of the door. "I can get you Max. I'll see you in detention."

Clay motioned at the door. Cougar crept over, looking around the door frame.

There was no one there.

He looked back at Clay and shrugged.

"Then I guess we're going to detention," Clay said, dropping the backpack on the floor, "But first, we find that shit that bumped into me, I want my goddamn stuff back."

"Anonymous corridor voice claims it can get us Max, and suddenly we are excited for detention for a week?" Jensen asked.

"I'm willing to take anything I can get," Clay muttered, stalking out of the room. Pooch and the others followed after him. Eventually they found Clay's bag, hanging from a tree near the football field, with a note attached to it. It was unsigned, and only had two words written on it.

'Have fun.'


	3. She's Volatile

A/N: Hi guys! I just want to mention that this is probably going to follow the plot of the books more closely than the plot of the movie, with hella improvisation from yours truly since we don't have guns or nukes or helicopters or oil rigs or sonic dematerializers to crater the port of LA with. Which also means this is probably going to be considerately less epic, but hey! Give them a break, they're only kids. :P

Also, In Memorandum is now available as a **podfic **and can be downloaded from the link on my profile page! I'll be posting ch. 1 and 2 of this one soon. Also included on my profile is a list of places on the internet where I can be found/stalked. And for the heck of it, here's some ages for the guys (they're all in the 12th grade):  
Clay, Pooch, Roque, Wade: 18  
Jensen, Cougar, Max: 17, though Cougar is the youngest with Jensen just a bit older.  
Aisha: 16 (she's a year behind the boys)

Also I'm sorry this took so long! Work hates me and other projects have been kicking my ass. D: Forgive meeee?

* * *

Detention. For a week. For being framed for nicking exam answers. All things considered, it was a pretty lenient punishment. That didn't mean the Losers had to be terribly excited for it, though. Clay secretly was, after the 'sexy anonymous corridor voice', as Jensen had come to call it, claimed she could get them the dirt they needed to expel Max, but there was no way he was going to let the others know that. When the last bell rang, they filed into the detention room.

Sanderson was in charge. The ever-stressed vice principal eyed all of them warily, ticking off their names on the registrar in front of him. He looked slightly annoyed as he seemed to come to another name of a person who wasn't present. Once he was done glaring at the paper, he looked around again, and then stood.

"If I leave the four of you alone in here for twenty minutes, I'm not going to come back and find the place exploded, am I?" he asked, staring at them icily over his glasses.

"No promises!" Jensen quipped. The grin on his face lasted only a moment as Sanderson turned his glare on the bespectacled computer genius. "I mean, no sir. No explosions."

"Good." Sanderson replied, leaving the room to do whatever it was he actually did around the school, aside from look like he was about to snap, get ulcers and glare at the freshmen. As soon as he was gone, Clay stalked over to the desk and picked up the attendance list.

"Aisha al-Fadil," Clay read. With a few keystrokes Jensen pulled up her permanent record. "What have we got on her?"

"Besides a pant-busting crush?" Jensen said. Cougar rolled his eyes. Jensen cleared his throat. "She's a year behind us. And... her record is blank. Other than being in detention 90% of the time for playing hookie. There's an attached file, though, from Stegler's computer."

"Open it," Clay said, joining the others who were huddled around Jensen's laptop.

Jensen did. "Whoa. It's a list of things Stegler thinks she's responsible for, but hasn't been able to actually link her with. Let's see... false alarms, graffiti, keyed cars, missing equipment and..."

A grin spread over his face, and Cougar tried to inconspicuously laugh into his hand. "Bouillon cubes in the football showers. Ha!"

"In the showers?" Cougar snickered.

"Pooch and Clay smelled like beef stew for three days." Jensen replied, "It was amazing."

"It was gross," Pooch said, frowning.

"Okay, yeah, it was kinda gross," Jensen admitted, "But you gotta hand it to her, the girl has a sense of humour!"

"First time anyone's said that," came the 'sexy anonymous corridor voice'.

This time, it's owner was standing inside the door of the detention room. She was a tall, thin girl with dark skin, an eyebrow piercing and spiky black hair, her uniform blouse half undone and her skirt clearly altered to be about two inches shorter than regulation. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she seemed to size up the boys.

"So you want to get back at Max?" she said, walking over.

"Not just back at him," Clay replied, "We want to get him expelled."

"Good," she replied, "Because I can get you the dirt you need to do just that."

"Why do you want to help us?" Pooch asked, eyeing her distrustfully.

"Because you four are the only ones in this dump crazy enough to actually try." she replied, "The only ones here with nothing to lose. You don't need this school, and this school doesn't need you."

Clay smirked. "So how do you propose we do this?"

Aisha reached into her messenger bag and dropped a picture on Jensen's laptop.

It was a picture of a tall, lanky ginger-haired kid.

"Ex boyfriend?" Jensen asked, picking it up.

"No, one of Max's cronies. Not an important one. But I hear Max trusts him with something extremely important. No one knows his name, or even what classes he has. Given that he pretty much doesn't exist, I figure what Max has him holding is something extremely valuable to him." Aisha said, looking around at the boys. "I've spent a week tracking him. Every day at two fifteen exactly he uses the bathroom in the back corner of the basement level. Alone. We catch him there we can get what Max wants kept safe, and use it against him. But if we don't get it from him, as soon as Max finds out we know, we can probably just go ahead and kiss our asses goodbye."

"How do we know you're not lieing to us?" Pooch asked, eyeing the girl warily.

"Because if I was, I would have made it sound easy."

* * *

After detention, Jensen stood on the front step of the school building, staring at a wall of rain. His good-for-nothing parents, of course, had not bothered to come pick him up, and Kelly was busy working. He couldn't start walking, or his laptop bag would get soaked and ruin all his homework, computer, and pretty much everything else of value to him. And he didn't have an umbrella. Standing far back, safe under the awning, he quietly waited for the rain to stop.

Until someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped out of his skin. He looked to his side, and smiled. "Jesus, Cougs, you scared the ever-loving shit out of me."

"Lo siento," the quiet Spaniard replied, offering him a somewhat battered black umbrella, "Aqui, tome me paraguas. No me importa mojarse."

"Are you sure?" Jensen asked, looking down at the umbrella. "I mean, I can wait until the rain stops."

Cougar shook his head. "Insisto."

Jensen smiled and took it, popping it open. It was rather large. "Where do you live, Cougar?"

Cougar blinked, "Tenth street."

"Well, I'm on twelfth." Jensen replied with a grin, "So we'll walk together. You don't need to get drenched on my account."

Cougar grinned, then shook his head and tipped his hat slightly. "I like the rain." he replied, before bouncing down the steps and walking away, whistling.

"Hey, wait!" Jensen called. Cougar just kept going. "Uh... thanks, then! See you tomorrow!"

Cougar raised his hand and waved.

* * *

Meanwhile, Clay was retrieving something from his locker. When he closed it, Aisha was standing next to it, hidden from his feild of vision by the door when it was open.

"Hello." Clay said, eyeing her.

"Hello." Aisha replied, eyeing him right back.

"You know, if you're lieing to us, I'm not above hitting a lady when she's sent my boys and me on a wild goose chase that's likely to get us expelled or worse." Clay said, nonchalantly tucking the book he grabbed into his backpack, then swinging the bag over his shoulder.

Aisha smirked. "I believe you," she said, brushing imaginary dirt off his arm, her hand lingering just a little too long for simply brushing something off.

He grinned, and was about to say something when Pooch walked up. "Come on, Clay, let's go. I'm supposed to meet Jolene at five and I'm not standing her up because you two are making goo-goo eyes."

"I wasn't making goo-goo eyes," Clay retorted, turning to follow Pooch.

"Yes you were. And might I remind you that your last girlfriend is the reason I have to drive your ass around? She pulled the transmission out of your car! I mean, come on!"

"She was volatile!"

"And this one isn't?"

Clay looked back over his shoulder at the dark girl leaning on his locker, watching them with a mildly amused expression.

"We'll see."

* * *

Lo siento – I'm sorry.

Aqui, tome me paraguas. - Here, take my umbrella

No me importa mojares. - I don't mind getting wet.

Insisto. - I insist.

I don't speak a word of Spanish. Thankfully, Google does!


	4. Interlude: The Courtyard

AN: Rumors of my death have been mostly exaggerated.

xx Andrix

* * *

It was before school. Jensen had come in almost an hour early to do some work in the computer lab. That only took him about half an hour, so he had some time to kill before the others arrived. He started towards the Losers' favourite place to avoid Max and co; the courtyard. He was slightly surprised by what he saw through the door leading outside. There on one of the benches lay Cougar, curled up on his side, his hat on the ground next to the bench.

Very, very quietly, Jensen pushed open the door and stepped onto the grass. He slowly crept over and knelt down to pick up the hat. He very nearly jumped straight out of his skin as a rough hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could so much as brush the brown leather with his finger tips. Piercing eyes stared at him past a fall of dark hair. It seemed to take Cougs a second to realize that it was Jensen.

"Buenos días?" Jensen said nervously.

Cougar released him and sat up, rubbing his forehead. "Si," he replied.

Tentatively, Jensen lifted up the hat and set it on the bench next to Cougar. "I wasn't gonna take it or put it on or nothin'," he said, "It was on the ground... I knew you'd be all grumpy if there was mud on it."

"Gracias, Jake."

Jensen had to pause for a second. For some reason he found he liked the sound of Cougar saying his name. He turned and sat down with his back against the bench. "You're here early," he remarked.

"Archery practice was at 6 this morning," Cougar muttered, "Wade changed it."

"Bastard," Jensen muttered. "Look, Cougs, I'm really sorry they're trolling you so bad..."

"What?"Cougar asked, "They're doing what?"

"Er... trolling?" Jensen said, "It's an internet term... for being rude and abrasive and otherwise nasty. Like a bridge troll. And... I just revealed how much of a geek I am, didn't I?"

Cougar looked at him, amusement shining in his eyes. "No, if you could tell me who the fourth captain of the _Enterprise _is, then you would be a geek."

Jensen turned a brilliant shade of red. "Jean-Luc Picard? He was third until they added Archer..."

"Si," Cougar said, putting his hat on his head, "Geek."

He stood and headed for the door. Jensen leaped to his feet. "Wait a minute, how do _you_ know that?"

Cougar just grinned. "Eso es un secreto." he said, before leaving Jensen standing there, beet red and flabbergasted. And also probably a little turned on. He'd have to tell his lower bits to get back to his brain on that one when there weren't so many crossed wires.


End file.
